


Intensity in Cacophony

by Anonymous



Category: Horus Heresy - Various Authors
Genre: Acoustic Fetish, Alien Biology, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Body Horror, Body Worship, Dubious Consent, M/M, Multiple cocks, Quid Pro Quo Sex, Shapeshifting, erotic asphyxiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:35:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28458390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The Primarch of the Third has never been a tyrant.  The word of his council continues to be held in high regard and no son is more persuasive nor attentive to his needs than the Lord Commander.
Relationships: Fulgrim/Eidolon
Kudos: 24
Collections: PB Anon Meme - 2020





	Intensity in Cacophony

**Author's Note:**

> Note: This is fic seeking to answer the question: how did Eidolon persuade Fulgrim to throw in his chips with the Mournival plot in _Saturnine_?

The noise made it difficult to concentrate.

Eidolon's ability to swing between winning duels and winning void wars had once made him the envy of the legion. His seizure of the Cardensine fleets of Old Night, accomplished without a single shot having been fired, had warranted his ascension to Lord Commander.

He still remembered those times, distant though they were. It was like reading the epics of Khalath or Hymnospene in that it might as well have been someone else's life, someone else's deeds.

He needed to concentrate. To devise a way to ask for an audience of Fulgrim while keeping his own head. He still nursed a deep enmity for the First Captain of the Sixteenth, uncultured piece of swine who couldn't tell sauvignon from sauterne that he was, but his plan and the logic behind it was sound.

Eidolon's mind was drifting however. As the men of the Third ransacked the settlements around the palace, Eidolon was filled with an urge to paint. To compose. It was to be the sort of theatrical piece Bequa Kynska would have devised in her last days. In the genre of _The Despoiling of the Sabyine Peninsula_ , this work might have been titled _The Razing and Rape of the Himalayzian Plateau_. Eidolon so liked the sound of it, he found his side gills fluttering as he hummed the main melody to himself.

Saturnine, he chided himself. The piece needed to be taciturn and gloomy in honour of the wall the Sixteenth were determined to topple.

As he was trying to rein in his own compositional urges, one of the civilian soldiers caught his eye. There was nothing outwardly special about him, he was indeed one of hundreds of millions that had been enlisted for the ground defense of the palace, but Eidolon's gaze had settled on him. And it stayed.

"You there," he commanded, "Halt."

The man of the Third who had been charged with moving this haul to their own settlement froze and struck a perfect salute. His armour gleamed in the afternoon sun; Eidolon saw he was a member of the 51st — one of Lyras', then.

"That one," Eidolon said, pointing at the soldier who had caught his eye. "Give him to me."

"Yes, lord." He was given another salute before the shackles on the soldier were cut with a single blow.

"The two of us can keep a secret, can we not?" Eidolon asked as he picked the conscript up by the collar of his thread-bare uniform.

"Yes, lord," Lyras' man repeated. Eidolon turned and walked back to his own encampment, certain that he would be given a third salute upon departure. The little mortal man was trembling in his grip. Eidolon generally considered it beneath him to succumb to the more carnal whims that had taken the rest of the Legion by storm. But as the itch was already there — and as the Primarch assuredly wasn't — and as he'd been presented with a means of scratching it...

As soon as he entered his tent, Eidolon threw the terrified mortal down on the bed. The man was shaking so badly, with chattering teeth and a guttural stammer, Eidolon found he had no reason to restrain him. As expected, the soldier stayed where he had been thrown, watching with slowly-widening eyes as Eidolon divested himself of his armour and robes.

Eidolon felt his gills flutter in anticipatory glee as he descended. The mortal soldier gave out the softest cry of terror. Eidolon attempted to mirror it; his throat sacs bulged, burbling and burbing, yet he found he could not affect the same terrified tone.

Filing the noise away, to be duplicated at a later time, he bared himself to the soldier. In the time of the Great Crusade, when he'd indulged in similar activities, there had always been a fair amount of worship and awe from the mortal parties. There was none of that now, only bone-deep fear. He hadn't thought the man's eyes could get any wider. The soldier stared before shaking his head in disbelief.

"Lick it," Eidolon commanded.

The man's bottom lip trembled. Tears pooled from his eyes.

"Lick it," Eidolon repeated, modulating the air flow from his gills so as to inveigle.

The conscript acquiesced, hastily opening his mouth and darting his tongue out to lick the whole of Eidolon's length. It was about as long as his forearm and it had the same girth as his thigh. The act brought Eidolon no pleasure; he was already thinking of how he would need to burn the present bed when the mortal inevitably expired upon it, but as he had already disrobed, he felt obliged to finish the deed.

After about ten minutes of gratuitous licking and slurping, Eidolon's cock was covered more with the salt of the soldier's tears than saliva proper. He was at least fully erect (or mostly so) at that point so he went ahead.

The choking noise that followed the initial thrust was irritating. But Eidolon would not be distracted. He pulled himself out and then pushed himself back in, taking no heed of the conscript's own garments or indeed organs.

"I take no pleasure in this," he grunted as he was close to the peak.

"That's too bad," the soldier purred, somehow managing to lock his legs about Eidolon, legs which should have been mangled beyond all sense of motor control. "For I certainly do."

And like that, the melody which Eidolon had busied himself with ground to a halt. The soldier beneath him opened his eyes and smiled and Eidolon understood at once.

"My lord," he greeted, pulling out and pushing back in, "You honour me so."

"That's it," Fulgrim praised, slipping in and out of his true form. "Faster. Faster, my beloved son."

His second set of arms revealed himself as his form contorted and then expanded. Purple scales raced across the soldier's ripped uniform while daggered wings ripped into the mattress. Eidolon was delirious with pleasure at that point, more aroused than he'd been in the whole of his existence. Pumping away like a breeder on a hive, he thrust his hips into the entrance his Primarch had so kindly provided. The legs wrapped about his waist melted into a single appendage which wrapped about him anew.

"Faster," Fulgrim repeated. "Faster, dear boy."

Eidolon picked up the pace but it didn't matter that he was now thrusting hard enough to chafe for Fulgrim was still visibly dissatisfied. The tail which was curled about him now snaked up, the tip played against Eidolon's lips. Eidolon opened his mouth, as enthusiastic as the mortal soldier who'd never been had been, and allowed the appendage to force its way down.

Fulgrim threw his head back, moaning in delight. Eidolon gagged and spluttered, feeling his gills sucking in air while his throat sac bulged. And still, he continued thrusting, obedient son that he was.

Despite the gills around his neck, Eidolon found himself light-headed from oxygen deprivation as the act dragged on. At this point, Fulgrim had revealed himself in full, wings and arms and claws and — Eidolon just discovered — a pronged cock fit for snakes. The pair of erections were pressed flush close against his own midsection and though he couldn't see them (could hardly see anything at this point), he could feel them, warm and swollen and leaking against him.

"More," Fulgrim urged, angling his tail so that Eidolon's gills were also covered. Slowly, ever so slowly, Eidolon's felt his neck being constricted. It brought great pain and with it, unspeakable pleasure. "More, more, _more_ ," the fallen Primarch — _his_ fallen Primarch — cried.

It was too much for Eidolon and, he suspected, too much for anyone still of the material plane. He would have come with a cry but the tail was insistent, having forced itself deep into (and around) his throat. Instead, he drove himself in one final time, bucking against the scaled constraints that kept him upright, and felt the steady pumping of seed that followed climax.

Right as he wondered if the Primarch would kill him for disappointing him anew, the tail and wings and additional arms and cocks all retracted, leaving him buried to the hilt in a mortal soldier. His eyes however, still shone with the Phoenician's knowing gaze.

"Oh Eidolon," the man purred, "My favourite son. You have always been so... persuasive." He pulled himself from the Lord Commander's embrace, ignoring the slosh of fluid that followed, and pushed himself forward to wrap his arms about Eidolon's neck.

Eidolon's gills fluttered as the soldier pressed a kiss to his throat sac.

"I am persuaded my son," Fulgrim continued, "Tell the little First Captain that we will assemble under his directive."

"Yes, lord."

Fulgrim sauntered off then, his second (or third) skin looking no worse for the wear. Curiously enough, Eidolon found his mind free of distractions for the first time since the Laer Campaign. That single-minded drive which had saved his life in many a duel to the death was back, however temporarily. He turned his attentions, not to the state of his private chambers or even the conspiracy his lord had agreed to, but rather, to his assemblage of paints and brushes.

In the span of an hour, he had composed a symphony, complete with an accompanying backdrop. The piece was called _The Stirring of the Phoenician_ , and he sends off orders to have it memorised and then played in their final maneuver as a unified legion.


End file.
